


The Hellack Affair

by River_in_Egypt



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2019-09-14
Packaged: 2020-10-12 13:52:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20565419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/River_in_Egypt/pseuds/River_in_Egypt
Summary: Mysterious things are happening at Malfoy Manor. Are there intruders breaking into the magically fortified estate, which should be impossible? What do they want? What kind of research is Luna doing and why is she being kidnapped (again)? Hermione and Malfoy find themselves in Switzerland, all of a sudden, looking for clues and trying to prevent dastardly things while freeing Luna from her kidnappers.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **To minimize confusion: **
> 
> Between my first remixed adventure of Hermione/Tintin (Prisoners of Ancient Spells) and this one lies another one with a treasure hunt, which has not been written (yet). The Tintin books follow an order, in which later books refer to events in earlier books, e.g. Haddock buying or rather inheriting Marlinspike Hall due to the treasure found. The adventure with the treasure hunt affording monetary means to pay for Marlinspike/Malfoy Manor, however, is two books in the Tintin universe and was impossible to write for this Remix this year. I therefore chose another adventure, which takes place later, after the treasure hunt, but was easier to transfer from one universe to the other. I hope you still enjoy it.  
My apologies to Snowy/Crookshanks fans: he’s taking a well-earned leave of absence in this adventure, charming Mrs. Figg’s cats meanwhile. He simply didn’t want to come with me on this journey.   

> 
> **To those who are not familiar with Tintin:**
> 
> Tintin is a young reporter who sets out for stories everywhere in the world but is never seen reporting anything. Instead, he is usually in the middle of investigating crimes or mysterious happenings, fights against upcoming dictators or comes to the aide of friends. He is always accompanied by his trusted dog Snowy, a white wire fox terrier who actually spoke with his master in earlier works, but is generally known for being a clever if at times odd dog (couldn't make it into a crup, sorry – different dog species).  
In later adventures, Tintin is joined by his friend Captain Haddock, a sailor who has a particular fondness of spirits. In the beginning of their acquaintance, he is quite the alcoholic, later, after inheriting quite an estate, he only drinks for pleasure.  
Also in their inner circle of friends is Professor Calculus, a quite brilliant scientist who's a little hard of hearing and refuses hearing aids because he's not deaf, really. He delivers comic relief constantly caused by his misunderstanding and mishearing things. Because of his brilliance, he is a frequent target for kidnappings, from which Tintin and Haddock have to rescue him.  
Tintin connaisseurs will recognize which adventures I took for the remix. I hope I did the original justice. 
> 
> **And last but not least: **many, many thanks to my trusted beta mccargi, who made the impossible possible and betaed this fic again - last minute, no less – I have a very strange relationship with deadlines - despite her work. I don't know what I'd do without you. Thank you again
> 
> ________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

****

**Chapter 1  
** Green was her favourite colour, Hermione decided; particularly the green of rolling hills as a backdrop to a garden full of trees and hedges where the leaves had just unfolded. It was late spring, and Hermione enjoyed the afternoon on the terrace in the back of Malfoy Manor. In an armchair, protected against the spring breeze by a warming charm, she succumbed to the overwhelming smell of lilac and jasmine while the sun tickled her nose.

What a piece of luck, she thought, that Malfoy had been able to buy his house back from the Ministry. She had been instrumental in the treasure hunt, affording him the necessary funds to pay the war reparations - which was why she had the right to come here as she pleased. She still avoided the drawing room – though Malfoy’s first deed had been to completely renovate and redecorate it - but a set of rooms had been set up for her in the East Wing of the house and she was free to come and go as she pleased. And there were plenty of areas in the Manor and its grounds worth seeing, for example the gardens out back where Hermione currently kicked up her feet.

It still seemed strange, to be on such good terms with a wizard she had loathed while in school, stranger yet that she enjoyed sitting in his garden, instead of researching in the bowels of the Ministry, trying to solve another magical puzzle. However, she’d had so many puzzles to solve in her recent adventures together with Malfoy that she was quite willing to take it a bit slower than usual; which was the reason why she was here, enjoying doing nothing.

They had ended up being friends with occasional benefits, she and Malfoy, but no more than that. They filled each other’s needs, holes in the fabric of their lives, but neither one would have minded the other one finding love. So far, it hadn’t happened, even though a few witches had shown their interest in a newly re-instated Master of Malfoy Manor. Malfoy had not been interested at all. He could not forget so easily how quickly the noble families had severed acquaintance with him when the war had ended. Hermione was sure it had nothing to do with unrequited love on his part. He was simply not ready to settle down with a wife and family, even though he claimed differently.  
And so, they continued to enjoy time together as survivors of great adventures, able to afford whatever leisure they wished.

Hermione closed her eyes with a deep sigh and raised her glass for a sip of Butterbeer, which was exactly the moment the Master of the house chose to step out. 

“Enjoying my gardens, Granger?”

She grinned up at him, squinting against the sunlight reflecting from his light hair. “I am, indeed, Malfoy.” She toasted and drank deeply. 

He cheered back with his tumbler of firewhisky. 

“No dinner plans today?” she inquired. Just because he wasn’t interested in tying the knot didn’t mean he wasn’t interested in occasional company. He didn’t want to be lonely, just the freedom to decide when to be alone. 

“None,” he said grimly. “It seems the young ladies are catching on that I’m not interested in second dates,” he added slightly irked.

Hermione snickered. A “second date” was code for commitment of sorts, and Malfoy simply wasn’t interested in it. Neither was Hermione. However, imagining Malfoy lording over his estate like his father had done was a bit ludicrous. Even while in school Malfoy couldn’t have stayed out of trouble if he had tried. Not that he ever had. Certainly, he’d had his reasons to follow her and Harry and Ron, but rule-abiding he had never been. Not really. He had always trusted somebody more powerful to bail him out. And he had seemed to enjoy the challenges of their recent adventures. It was difficult to imagine him in one place for long, bending over books for leisure and not for research. Even when he tried to resign himself to it.

He enjoyed the benefits his estate afforded him, but there was always something restless about him.

Malfoy ignored her snicker and imparted his own thoughts. “Perhaps I should send an owl to Astoria Greengrass, for another dinner. It is time to make some plans for the future. I cannot stay here, day in, day out, waiting for another adventure to knock on my door.”

Hermione grinned to herself. He kept trying to convince himself that he should do the proper thing and settle down. She didn’t think he had it in him to stay home for long. Not yet. Just like she didn’t. The immense energy she had tapped into all these years to keep herself hidden in the limelight had been subdued, the connection severed. There was no vacuum left behind, needing to be filled, so she didn’t feel the need to dabble in other powers. The treasure hunt had given her plenty of challenges to live up to, as well; yet, just like Malfoy, she didn’t trust this peacefulness, sitting in Malfoy Manor, enjoying the sunset, to last for long. 

“How’s Luna doing?” she asked, just to change the subject. Having him dwell on things he wasn’t ready for never ended well. The influence of his ongoing cursing curse was just the least of the problems. His restlessness and temper was quite another, even though he tried to keep up a calm façade. 

“Why don’t you go and ask her yourself? You know where she set up her laboratory in the cottage. I hardly see her these days.” He shrugged. As strange as it seemed, Luna Lovegood had also been instrumental in reinstating Malfoy as the owner of Malfoy Manor. He had helped to rescue her after she was kidnapped and taken to Peru two years ago, and she hadn’t stopped talking about it after their return. The _Daily Prophet_ had soaked it up, and after a few months people had believed that Malfoy was a hero with a difficult family history, poor soul. His name had been cleared in the public mind by his heroic deeds. 

“Maybe I will,” she replied, shrugging back into her lawn chair. “Before I leave tonight,” she added.

“Going back to London so soon?” Malfoy inquired with raised eyebrows. “Somebody waiting for you?”

“No,” she said, sighing. “I just don’t think I can take more of this tranquility. I feel like I would fall asleep and never wake up again if I stayed here much longer.”

“Suit yourself, Granger,” Malfoy grumbled. “I, for one, can never get enough of this serenity.”

‘You keep telling yourself that,’ Hermione smiled to herself, cheering him with her mug.

She raised the glass to her lips to take another sip of butterbeer when a crack of thunder broke the stillness. Within seconds, a flash almost struck a marble figure in the middle of the lawn and the cloud cover she hadn’t seen develop so quickly while distracted by the conversation broke in a downpour. She was up in a flash when another lightning strike hit even closer to the terrace, the electricity raising the hairs on the backs of her arms, giving her goosebumps.

“Doddering Diricawls, a thunderstorm! Quickly, Granger, get inside!”

Malfoy was running, already halfway back inside. She followed him quickly, a natural reflex to seek cover against nature, running with her mug held high, lest she spilled her drink.  
Just before she reached the glass doors, she felt intense pressure on her ears. She kept running, thinking another flash or thunder was going to hit, and then, with a quiet crack, her mug broke in her hand. She stopped in her tracks, disoriented, staring at the broken handle while the rest of the glass fell to the ground, hitting the terrace stone floor with a few smacks. Hermione still couldn’t move. While the rain drenched her, she stood, trying to make sense, one step from the shelter of the terrace doors. An arm reached out, grabbing the front of her shirt and pulled her the last meter into the covered space.

“Met a basilisk for tea, Granger? What are you doing? It’s dangerous to stand out in a thunderstorm, Dithering Dugbogs.” Malfoy fumed while her hair dripped on the floor. Hermione, wide-eyed, still tried to get a grip on her wits and stared at him when Malfoy took the broken handle from her. He whipped out his wand, shut the doors, cast a drying spell over her frozen form and himself, and only then did Hermione feel her mental capacities starting up again. 

“What…,” was the only thing she was able to say before another flash and crash of thunder hit outside the glass doors, which emitted a crunching sound before breaking apart with quiet “bling, cling” sounds.

Malfoy and Hermione jumped away from the opening where the rain lashed in.

With a bang, a house elf materialized at their side, fixing the glass soundlessly with his own innate magic, before the rain could soak the Persian rug running to the entry. Then he turned and bowed to Malfoy, and, with some hesitation, to Hermione as well.

Malfoy recovered first. “Well done, Wilson. I could have done it myself, of course, but keeping the rain out and protecting the rug was of utmost importance,” he said, a little out of breath. 

Wilson bowed again. “Master, two strange gentlemen have come calling at the main gate.”

The pair exchanged an alarmed glance – they had just been showered with breaking glass and almost hit by lightning, after all - before Hermione asked, “Who is it, Wilson?”

The house elf waited for Malfoy’s assuring nod before he replied to the Muggleborn, with another deep bow, his nose almost touching the floor. “Two gentlemen from the Ministry of Magic, with identical bowlers.” 

“Crabbe and Goyle, the chizpurfles,” Malfoy exclaimed, agitatedly. “What great timing. I wonder what they have to do with all this. Well, send them in, quickly, before they are soaked to the bone. We can’t have them stumble over their wet shoes and break anything,” he added snidely. 

As the house-elf disappeared, Malfoy drained the tumbler still held firmly in his hands, despite recent events, and turned to the cabinet immediately for a refill. He caught Hermione’s imploring and slightly irritated look at his intention and replied with an apologetic shoulder shrug.

“For the shock, Merlin’s sagging sack,” he said, and turned his attention to his arrangement of decanters to select the right drink. He picked the same firewhisky he’d had before. “One for you, as well, Granger?”

“No, thank you, Malfoy,” she replied firmly. “You know I don’t drink anything stronger than butterbeer.”

He shrugged again. “Suit yourself. I need something for my nerves. Who knows what the two oafs came here for.” 

At that precise second, said oafs were apparated into the living room by Wilson, who bowed again and then disappeared. Malfoy, exhilarated from the recent events, turned to them immediately. “Crabbe, Goyle, you will never guess what just happened.”

“Malfoy, how good to see you.” Goyle came forward, his hand outstretched, to greet him. 

Crabbe joined him and added, “Oh, yes, you can give me one of those,” while pointing to the firewhisky decanter Malfoy had just returned to its place. “Not that I like firewhisky much, I’m just thirsty, that’s all.”

Stopped in his tracks by their demands, Malfoy abided by the rules of polite hospitality, poured two more tumblers, and passed one each to the two visitors. He then grabbed his own and gave a polite cheer. “To your good health.”

“And to yours,” came the more cheerful reply from the two former schoolmates in their black cloaks.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit, gentlemen?” Malfoy asked after they had savoured the first sip. 

Crabbe and Goyle exchanged a look of uncertainty, as if they didn’t know where to start, when it occurred to Goyle that Malfoy had been about to tell them something.

“You first. You were going to tell us what happened,” he said.

Instantly suspicious, Malfoy frowned. Certainly, their recent events were exciting, mysterious even, but Crabbe and Goyle never came unannounced. One quick glance exchanged with Hermione confirmed to him that she wanted to know as well. For Crabbe and Goyle to be here, on a day like this, without previous communication was strange. Eyes narrowed to slits, he focused on the two men in front of him.

“Oh no. You’ve come on official business I assume, so, let’s get it out of the way,” he said snidely. 

Crabbe and Goyle exchanged another look, then Crabbe shrugged and Goyle nodded to him. Crabbe turned to Malfoy. 

“Well, see here, …” Crabbe started. 

“We’ve come to, well…” Goyle continued.

“To inquire how Wilson is doing?” Crabbe finished with hesitation.

Malfoy, who was about to take another sip, lowered his glass in astonishment. “And why, may I ask, by Merlin’s beard, would you be inquiring about my house elf?”

“Well, see here, Malfoy, he’s not quite yours,” Goyle protested, “just because he stayed on when you got reinstated in your house.”

“That’s right, he’s still a Ministry assigned house elf,” Crabbe added pretentiously.

That didn’t help Malfoy’s expression. “Reinstated in your house” reminded him and Hermione of the nasty, lengthy, and bureaucratic process it had taken to get the keys back from the Ministry. Not that Malfoy actually needed a key to open the front door. However, it had taken several months after paying the war reparations for Malfoy to actually be allowed to enter his house, even though the property rights had been reassigned to him after a few days. Somebody in the Ministry, apparently, either hadn’t believed the hero stories printed about Malfoy or had held a grudge and tried to deny him his right to his estate. Hermione, simply incredulous of the resentment within the Ministry toward Malfoy, had needed to put a foot down in the end, edging Harry to intervene, so that Malfoy could finally return to Malfoy Manor unhindered. Except for Wilson, who was still there. The house elf had refused to let them enter through the Floo, until the Manor itself had swung open the front gate and front door on its own accord to let Malfoy in. 

All those memories of resentment in mind, he bent forward with a dark frown to the two Ministry wizards. “And why would the Ministry inquire about a house elf who lives a quiet life here with me and my guests?”

It had been established within minutes of his arrival, that Wilson was simply loyal to the Manor, unsure of its true ownership. Assigned by the Ministry to care for the house until it could be sold, he had stayed and tended the estate. However, after the war, nobody wanted to buy the house of the Malfoy family, which had housed the Dark Lord in the end, so, the Manor had become a closed file, and Wilson was simply forgotten as the years passed. After a while, he had bonded with the very walls and wards of ancient wizarding home. Only those walls opening doors and allowing Malfoy entry was able to convince Wilson that Malfoy was, in fact, the true owner. Surprised by the good state the house was in, and Wilson’s refusal to leave it, Malfoy had quickly decided that he was in need of a good house-elf. Hermione had stayed for a few weeks in the beginning to make sure everyone was able to get along, but it worked much better than expected. And so Wilson had stayed. As far as house elves in butler roles go, he had been an excellent choice, and Malfoy had grown quite fond of him. Mutual respect guided their daily interaction. Making it all the more surprising that he would actually report to the Ministry.

Both Crabbe and Goyle hummed and hawed. “Well, you know, the Ministry would like to know …” “It could be interesting, just in case, to see who comes and goes, you see, …”

“You have my house elf spying on me???!!!” Malfoy yelled in their faces, and Hermione couldn’t blame him. “Gallons of grisly, gibbering goblins and gargoyles,” he added in his anger. His eyes bulging, his face red, the cursing curse was still going strong in Malfoy when he became agitated.

“Seriously,” Hermione intervened in astonishment and a little angry herself. Coming from Crabbe and Goyle, the insinuation that Malfoy possibly needed to be watched to see who he was in touch with was hypocrisy to the highest degree. Even by Ministry standards. This whole business stank from the head. “Wilson is reporting to the Ministry? And what does he have to say?”

“That’s the thing, nothing really. That’s why we were sent to check…” Goyle rushed to pacify her.

Before he could finish the sentence, there was again a moment of intense pressure Hermione felt in her ears and then, with a quiet crack, the tumbler in Malfoy’s hand broke apart, the firewhisky dripping over his hands. His face still so red he was almost smoking from the ears, he paled when several glass shards barely missed his nose. “What the …” Malfoy started aghast. “By all the Blibbering Humdingers!”

Hermione was again condemned to inactivity. Just like on the terrace, her thoughts were so muddled she couldn't make a decision. Deep down she knew that she would have to check the surroundings, cast protection and detection spells, and examine the glass shards for remaining magic, but she couldn't focus on what to do first. Neither, it seemed, could Malfoy. Except for his cursing, he stood and stared at the firewhisky dripping from his fingers. Likewise did Crabbe and Goyle. Their bulging eyes could have competed with a frog.

Malfoy finally broke the spell.

“My firewhisky,” he exclaimed. “A 1949 from Dunkirk, the very best my great-uncle Anatole ever acquired. Dithering Dugbogs!”

That did it for Hermione as well. Her mental capacities returned. “Never mind the firewhisky!” she shouted. “What happened to your glass? Did you just break it in your hands?”

“Of course not,” Malfoy scoffed in reply. “Like I would destroy a glass my mother treasured, filled with firewhisky from our very best family stock, pilfering Pithecanthopusses.”

“True,” Hermione mused. “You wouldn’t do this, not on purpose, at least. Hmmm. A Reducto? But for what purpose? And by whom?” While thinking aloud and finally jumping into action, she sent spell after spell of discovering charms as well as protection charms all over the house, the terrace and the gardens. Nothing.

Malfoy frowned her way. “Granger, you know quite well that nobody can intrude uninvited in these grounds. Not without the Occamies giving alarm. I have them nesting all around the perimeter. They know exactly who does and who doesn't belong.”

“Also true.” Hermione was deep in thought. She had checked the securities of Malfoy Manor herself quite thoroughly when he moved in, to see for herself how safe he was and how safe she would be when she chose to stay here. There was no danger within the estate to them and nobody who could come in without raising alarm. Even if somebody had managed against all odds, she would have seen him or her by now. But there was nothing. Standing over his glass shards, she poked one carefully, but there was no life in it. It was just broken glass, still wet from the liquid that had been in it a few seconds ago.

Hermione was pulled from her thoughts by Crabbe and Goyle, who had finally overcome their confusion. They laughed.

“You should have seen your face, Malfoy,” Crabbe snorted with laughter. 

"Priceless," Goyle snickered.

They stopped laughing as soon as Malfoy lashed out at them. 

“You two-timing troglodytes! Odd-toed ungulates! Shipwreckers, terrapins, turncoats! You think it’s funny that I almost slashed my face? That my favourite and most valuable firewhisky is wasted on the floor? That glass is breaking all over the house all afternoon? Are you out of your blistering minds, you anacoluthons?”

Hermione had reached Malfoy’s side by “turncoats” and did her best to calm him. Crabbe and Goyle had taken a step back from the furious man, protecting themselves with their outstretched hands, hoping their raised palms would somehow hold off the onslaught. They had good reason, Hermione thought, because Malfoy was still a force to be reckoned with when he got his temper going. Magical accidents were not unlikely. 

“You admit to spying on me and then laugh at my misfortune? Like this could never happen to you, cluttering clabberts? Dugbogs, Erklings, Dizzards, Chimaeras! Certified Diplododuces!”

By now, Hermione stood between him and the flabbergasted Crabbe and Goyle, who slowly recovered their composure.

“Of course, this could never happen to us. We are no-nonsense Ministry employees. Breaking glasses in our hands would never happen.” Goyle’s look of indignation and Crabbe’s identical face would have fooled a person less in the know. Not those present however. 

At their demeanour, Hermione would have normally rolled her eyes at their stupidity. However, knowing Malfoy, she rather braced herself in anticipation of his renewed efforts to go at the two certified oafs and trying to stop him with her body weight. 

Before anyone else could say another word, two quiet “crunch” and “clink” sounds indicated that more glass had broken; this time in Crabbe and Goyle’s hands. Having her back to them, Hermione felt the brush of something over the hair at the back of her head and noted the clink with which the glass shards hit the wall next to her. This was becoming more than strange. And dangerous, too.

She didn’t need to worry about holding Malfoy back anymore, however.

After a second of shocked silence, ignoring her strained frown, he laughed. Starting with a low chuckle, he worked himself into hearty, full-out, belly-holding laughter. As he continued, Hermione couldn’t help chuckling with him; especially at the sight of Crabbe and Goyle’s aghast faces.

“Hohohoho,” Malfoy laughed. “You two purple pygmy-puffs. Who’s laughing now, huh?”

At Crabbe and Goyle’s faces, which were slowly turning from stunned to clueless to angry at Malfoy’s endless laughter, Hermione prepared to launch into an explanation of the whole situation, starting from the thunderstorm on the terrace. However, Luna ambled in before Hermione could finish her intake of breath.

Now, there was nothing unusual about Luna ambling into the Malfoy Manor living room, in her usual no-worries-in-the-world-way, as she had her laboratory on the grounds nearby, and she and Malfoy, for some inexplicable reason, seemed to be getting along quite splendidly. The state her hair and part of clothes were in, however, were. Unusual that is. Some of the dangling locks were singed, turned black at the ends and emitting the terrible stench of burnt hair, and her black cloak had holes in the shoulder region, letting through the colour of her shirt below. It was green. 

Before anybody could remark on it, she said dreamily, “Why are the gentlemen all drenched in firewhisky?”

Met with once-again shocked faces, she simply carried on, “Do be careful to stay away from the fire, firewhisky is easily inflammable.”

The irritation over one of Luna’s clueless non-sequiturs, especially since there was absolutely no fire burning close by, shook Hermione once again out of her inaction.  
“Talking about inflammable, what happened to your hair, Luna?” she inquired suspiciously. “And your cloak?”

Now it was Luna’s turn to look shocked. Her hand going to her hair, she pulled a burnt lock down, examining the still smoking ends. 

Before she could say “huh”, Hermione and Malfoy had jumped into action. From the smoking evidence that Luna had been attacked on her way to the house, taken together with the breaking glass from before, it was clear that an intruder had indeed found his or her way onto the Malfoy estate. Even Crabbe and Goyle understood that Luna had been attacked and had their wands pulled in milliseconds, and together they moved out, covering each other’s backs, to search the grounds for him or her or them. 

“Stay in here, Luna,” Hermione yelled as the last one leaving the room, facing backwards. “Stay away from the windows. And have your wand ready in case they come in here.”

They didn’t wait for Luna’s reply, aware that their detection charms had found no one within the building, and quickly retraced her steps back to her cottage, searching the grounds thoroughly, checking behind every tree and under every rock, expanding their search outwards until they hit the walls of the grounds. Half an hour later it became clear that there was no one to be found. When a disturbed Occamy almost jumped Crabbe’s bowler, with Crabbe under it, it was obvious that they wouldn’t find whoever attacked Luna, and they turned back to the house. 

“Well, this is very disturbing,” Goyle summed up what they all thought. “We will be reporting back to the Ministry. But rest assured, Malfoy, that we will investigate what is behind this.” 

“To be sure, we will instigate what is behind this,” Crabbe added enthusiastically.

Malfoy was seriously concerned. Hermione sympathized with him; an intruder in what he believed was his completely secure Manor was certainly reason for concern. “I’m sure you will have to report to your supervisors, but please, no outside words. I don’t want the _Daily Prophet_ on my door step tomorrow. Think about the gossip it will cause,” he implored Crabbe and Goyle. 

Hermione added seriously, “Gossip is not the worst problem, but we will never find out what is going on here when Hinz and Kunz traipse by to have a look.”

Goyle pushed out his chest pompously. “Don’t say another word. We will not say more than absolutely necessary to our supervisor. Mum’s the word, to be sure.”

“To be sure, dumb’s the word,” Crabbe added with the same self-importance.

Malfoy nodded, accepting their assurance, and continued to guide them to the point from which they could Apparate back to the Ministry.

After they’d left, he turned to Hermione. “Are you still going back to London tonight?”

Regarding him contemplatively, she said, “No. Under the circumstances, I think it would be better if I stayed tonight. Unless you have objections …?”

He glanced back at her, the concern about the recent events visible on his face. “Not at all. Your rooms are ready. In fact, another set of vigilant eyes and a clever mind would be helpful tonight. Who knows what else will be happening?”

She nodded back at him. “All right, then. I’ll stay.”

It would not be a convivial evening, she was sure.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Nothing else happened during the night, but the previous exciting events made Hermione toss and turn. Missing a decent sleep, she tried to make up for it with a second mug of coffee at the breakfast table the next morning.

She had only finished it halfway when Malfoy came in in his dressing gown. 

“Good morning, Granger. Slept well?” he greeted her while sitting down on the other side of the table. The Daily Prophet appeared magically next to his plate, together with a glass of pumpkin juice. He took the newspaper and leaned back while opening it up with a wand wave, making it float in the air in front of him, before he grabbed the glass with his free hand.

“Not well, no,” Hermione replied. “You?”

“Well enough,” he said from behind the paper. “At least, we were not disturbed by more breaking glass.” The glass with juice disappeared behind the paper as well, and Hermione looked down to take another sip of coffee when the sound of breaking glass rattled her again.

This time it came from Malfoy dropping his glass of juice.

While the juice spilled everywhere, and Wilson materialized immediately to mop it up, Malfoy shouted, “Buggering Boogabaloo!” 

“What is it, Malfoy?” Hermione wondered, startled.

“These two four-coloured flapping Fwoopers. I’ve had enough of these Lubberscum, Monopolizers, Misengamots, Ministry goats! The pickled porlocks!”

He had jumped up, throwing the _Daily Prophet_ on the table, and raced to the next window to look out. 

Hermione grabbed the paper and unfolded it. “What’s happening in Malfoy Manor?” read the headline by Rita Skeeter, leading into a full, front-page spread speculating about mysterious things going on in Wiltshire.

“Oh, shoot, how did that happen?” she mumbled. 

“How that happened?” Malfoy had come back to the table, unable to see anything from a window looking out into the back gardens. “I tell you how that happened. The Cackling Kneazles couldn’t keep their mouth shut, that’s what happened. The numbskulls, showrunners, slubberdegullions.”

Hermione giggled nervously. Malfoy’s creativity in his curses was quite entertaining. 

“What’s there to laugh about?” Malfoy demanded. “I will have to cancel all my engagements, with people lurking all over the Manor front gate and everywhere else I go. Like I need half the world to sniff around in my private life.”

Hermione took a deep breath to calm herself. “Well, that’s not the worst thing. It will put the focus here and make it unlikely that we can find out who’s behind the attack on Luna. Where is she this morning, by the way?”

Malfoy, still pacing the dining room, growled in reply, “I have no idea. She could still be asleep, for all I care, quivering Quintaped.”

Before Hermione could call Wilson to inquire about Luna’s whereabouts, a Howler drifted into the room, unfolding before their wary eyes.

Hermione recognized the voice immediately. Even Malfoy did, and he squirmed uncomfortably. 

“Mr. Malfoy, Rita Skeeter here, a statement, please. I witnessed Mr. Crabbe and Mr. Goyle returning from your house last night when I stayed late at the Ministry. They were quite visibly upset over the fact that their drinks were destroyed and your guests attacked. What is going on in your house? Do you still house Death Eaters? Are your guests really your guests, unlikely as it sounds with a Muggleborn like Ms. Granger, or really your prisoners? Have they been imperioused? Are you holding them hostage? And to what purpose? Have all those rehabilitation stories been lies? Have you acquired the property of Malfoy Manor illegally if the house doesn’t even defend you the way wizarding manors do? Or does the fact that a Muggleborn is frequently present at the Manor interfere with the ancient Magic of house protection? The public has a right to know, Mr. Malfoy. I recommend that you give me a statement, as to …”

The parchment of the Howler went up in flame mid-sentence. Hermione put her wand down again with a smack and finished her coffee with a decisive last gulp. Only then did she look up at Malfoy’s silent form and his pale, pointy face.

They both knew what it meant, Rita Skeeter haranguing them in their home. It meant that their quiet time was over for a while. It meant that it was only a matter of hours until sensation-seekers would come knocking on the front gates. 

“Let’s not jump to conclusions,” Hermione said rationally, stroking the table cloth as she spoke to keep herself calm. “Let’s check first.”

Malfoy summoned a foe-glass without further comment, but his expression showed already what they both didn’t want to accept. It floated in, half a minute later. When it landed on the breakfast table, however, the damage was clear. While not very sharp, many specters moved in it, clearly in front of the main gates. 

“Muttering Manticores, I have to cancel Astoria,” Malfoy said quietly, disappointment edged in the folds around his pointy nose. “I just received her confirmation for tonight. I just cannot leave the house unattended now, suffering sea-serpent.”

Hermione smiled at him sympathetically. She knew he hated to be hindered in his plans. Malfoy sighed and then left the room to write a note to be send by owl post. 

Hermione stayed behind, wondering if she should have a third cup of coffee or what her breakfast could be. While pondering, she kept her eyes on the foe-glass where the specters moved about, whirling, swirling, like smoke in a glass, none coming close. 

When Malfoy came back, she still sat there, her eyes fixed on the glass.

He sat down across from her. “This doesn’t keep you here, Granger. You are free to go. Or stay. Whatever you prefer.”

Looking up, she focused on him. He saw the thought process working behind her eyes. 

“What, Granger?” he asked, slightly amused.

“Why is the attacker from last night not in the foe-glass?” she asked finally.

Malfoy shrugged. “Because he’s not out there, right now. Just curious onlookers.”

“Okay.” She accepted that, nodding. “Did you notice that there was no glass-breaking anymore after last night?”

He raised his eyebrows and indicated with his chin the place where his pumpkin juice had been, then glancing up at her as if to say “duh”. 

“Yes, yes.” She waived her hand impatiently. “But you dropped that. Let’s assume that some outside force is responsible for the glass breaking, why didn’t we have anymore last night?”

He shrugged again. “Because the force stopped working?”

“Precisely,” she said, her eyes alight.

When she didn’t offer any more explanations, he made a face. “And?” he said, waving his hands impatiently at her.

She chuckled at his impatience. “_And_ it stopped working after Luna came. What is she working on, right now?”

Some clarity came into Malfoy’s features when he understood the association to Luna’s work, but then he made a face again. “I have no idea.”

Hermione jumped up. “I have to see her. I’ll go to the cottage right now.”

“Wait a second, I’ll come with you,” Malfoy said, decisively. “Just let me get dressed. It’ll take two minutes.”

“All right,” she said, sitting back down. “Hurry up.”

It really only took two minutes. He was back in a flash, in jumper and trousers, his hair combed and shoes on his feet.

Just when they turned to leave, a letter flew into the room, unfolding right in front of them.

“Dear Draco and Hermione,” it said in Luna’s voice. “I have to go visit a colleague in Switzerland for an urgent matter regarding my current research. Don’t you worry about me, I’ll be back in a few days. Cordially, Luna.”

With those last words, it refolded itself again and floated to the table where it came to rest. The names Malfoy and Hermione were clearly written on the front in black ink and in Luna’s handwriting. Malfoy and Hermione exchanged a look and bolted from the room. They Apparated from the house -there were only three people allowed to do so- and landed in sight of Luna’s cottage. The path through the greenery was well cut and cleared, and the tiny house lay in silence, its door closed. There wasn’t a soul in sight as they walked straight to the entrance.

After exchanging one glance, Malfoy indicated for Hermione to open the door, both with their wands in hand. The door opened slowly to the inside, to disclose a study room, a huge desk dominating it, in studious disarray, parchment over parchment stacked high. Hermione entered cautiously, Malfoy directly behind her, but there was no reason. The room was entirely empty and Hermione exhaled. Malfoy closed the door halfway and proceeded to check the corners of the room while Hermione went to the desk immediately, hoping to find clues about Luna’s research. She found something quickly. 

The parchments on the desk contained notes and drawings, quite precisely showing what exactly kept Luna so busy. Open cages along a shelf on the backside of the room provided more evidence about her work. A small singing bird would have fit easily in each of them. 

While Hermione had her head bent to study Luna’s notes, Malfoy had crossed the room to open the door on the other side, leading to a second room or hallway. It only leaned to and he pushed it open with his free hand, wand at the ready. He was still surprised and not ready to fire when another man came out from behind the door, bolting straight for the entrance, running Malfoy flat over and continuing to cross the room for the front door without delay. Hermione turned like a whirlwind, shooting Impediment charms after the intruder, but the man was quick. He ducked behind an armchair under the side window, and shot back at Hermione from his cover, so she had to search for cover herself, next to the desk. And when she was hindered to shoot, Malfoy still on the floor, unable to shoot himself, the man used her delay to make a beeline to the door. He was gone before Hermione aimed again. While both of them bolted after him, running from the cottage to get a better shot, he ducked into the woods right behind the door, beyond the reach of their spells. They heard him fighting through the underbrush, but there was no way to get a clear shot. Hermione followed immediately; Malfoy turned around to take another route to cut him off on his way to the walls, but to no avail. When Hermione reached the wall and found a bewitched Occamy in deep slumber she knew the intruder had escaped for good. Well prepared he had been. She felt like cursing herself but left it to Malfoy, who had just reached her side. 

“Pithecanthropus! Zapotec! Serpentine sea-gherkin! Ectoplasms!" he shouted up the wall, over which the intruder had to have escaped, enervating the Occamy where he stood at the same time. They stared at the wall together (“Cachinnating cockatoo, caterpillar, certified carpetseller!”), trying to find clues, but when the magical serpent shook off its stupor and recovered its aggression to aim against them, they retreated.

“Come on, Malfoy. It’s no use cursing at the wall. Let’s see if we can find anything back at the cottage that tells us what’s going on.”

She would have started asking the essential questions immediately, but she knew it was no use, while Malfoy kept cursing under his breath.

“Big-headed Belemnit, blistering bird-brain, bilious bodysnatcher, brigand, brute, buccaneer, centipede,” he ranted until they reached the cottage. Hermione empathized with him. Facing an intruder on what should have been completely secure property was quite unnerving. In sight of the door, he had calmed down enough to stop cursing. Hermione felt he would be able to focus again. 

“First and most important question: how did he get in here?” she asked. “Why was he able to get over the wall, able to stun one of the Occamies from a short distance, that is, right next to it?”

Malfoy scowled, and Hermione was afraid he would start cursing again, but he stayed focused and replied. “Yes, well, … because he’s on the ancient visitor list.”

“Excuse me?” Hermione said, the horror clearly on her face. “I thought we’d tightened security?”

Malfoy growled. “Yes, we did. But you remember how powerful the Dark Lord’s spells had been. He’d specified very precisely who had entrance and who did not.”

She nodded, her deep frown indicating for him to continue, and quickly, with the explanations. He did, with an exasperated huff.

“I thought I’d revoked all of it, being from Malfoy blood and all, but apparently I didn’t catch it all.”

He paused, embarrassed to admit that he wasn’t omnipotent in his own home. Hermione had no patience for self-pity and urged him on. “And? What does that mean?”

“It means that, apparently, some Death Eaters still have access to the grounds,” he snapped.

“Death Eaters?” She paled. “Do you mean to say…?”

“That this guy, who ran me over, is one? Absolutely,” he barked. “I recognized him. I don’t know his name, but Dolohov brought him into the Dark Lord’s inner circle. I assume he’s also of Russian descent.”

Feeling sick to her stomach, Hermione tried to digest this news. Death Eaters! They were like weeds. You just never got rid of them entirely.

“The only thing I don’t know is what he wanted here right now. What is so important to break into Malfoy Manor?” Malfoy pulled her out of her thoughts.

“Well.” Hermione shook herself mentally. “That is something I can clarify, I think,” she mumbled, then shook her head angrily. “I have an inkling what he wanted. Come on, I’ll show you what Luna worked on.”

They entered the cottage together and Hermione picked up the parchments stacked on the desk and spread out one covered with drawings. They were quite precise, illustrating the well-detailed body parts of what looked like beings made from manifested smoke, clouded in sound waves; at least, this was what Luna’s drawing looked like, outward going lines, indicating sound. They were about the height of a large fairy, by Luna’s measure, with arms and legs that just ended without fingers or toes, and no neck. Their face was laid in folds of smoke, eyes black as coal looking outward between them and a hole in the middle of the face, which could go for a mouth opening. 

“Hellack” Luna had written on the side of a parchment. And in bullet points under it: spirits = can disappear, sound waves, no fire, confusion. 

On another parchment were drawings and descriptions of beings or spirits dressed in flames and miniscule beings surrounded by bright light. Arrows indicated that those beings and spirits somehow came together and made another being, like the Hellacks described on the other parchment.

“Blow me, gibbering goblins!” Malfoy hissed through his teeth and put his hands on the desk, to support his upper body. “She bred new magical beings?”

Her eyes fixed on the parchments, Hermione nodded. “Seems that way. From Heliopaths and Wrackspurts. I never thought they’d existed outside of her imagination. I just have to find … ah, here.” She spread another parchment out in front of them. On it were drawings of the Hellacks sending their sound waves into the air, and a selection of materials shattering under them: glass, wood, but also what looked like gases, blocks of a hard but transparent material, likely plastic, and solid rocks. And one large word below: Pollution.

Malfoy exhaled and then wiped his face with both hands. Hermione glanced his way, and their eyes met in the middle. She nodded. Malfoy, it seemed, also understood.

“Yes, I believe, she did it with excellent intentions. Knowing her, she’d be worried about the pollution in the Muggle world. We will all be affected, in time.”

“But these beings can destroy anything,” Malfoy continued sotto voce. “They already do glass quite well, as we witnessed yesterday, I assume.”

“And if they are as able as she indicated on her parchments …,” Hermione picked up the thread of thoughts in agreement.

“.. we have a weapon of mass destruction on our hands,” Malfoy finished it. “Imagine what they could do with human brains? Confusion, I assume, is just the beginning of it.”

There was a short pause in which they both tried to wrap their heads around the implications. Malfoy broke it when he exclaimed, “Sacrament, Lovegood, what were you thinking?” It spoke for his astonishment that he didn’t even curse more than that.

Hermione had let her eyes wander all over the cottage while coming to terms with the enormity of their find. Her eyes lit on something on the floor.

“Huh, what’s this?”

Malfoy followed her glance, turned and, standing closer, accioed a black piece of cloth. A piece of parchment fell from it and floated to the floor. 

“Seems like you hit him after all. This looks like a piece of cloak. Well-made cloth, but just a simple wizard’s cloak.” Malfoy passed the piece to her so she could see for herself and accioded the piece of parchment. “Hm, it says Switzerland,” he wondered. “And this is not Luna’s hand-writing.”

It took only a second to sink in. They exchanged a horrified look. 

“Where did Luna say she was going?”

“Switzerland,” Malfoy confirmed. 

“The Death Eater,” Hermione exclaimed unnecessarily. “They are trying to get their hands on Luna’s invention.”

Malfoy understood. “Pilfering pyromaniac, and now she’s gone traveling. She’ll be easy picking for whoever wants a piece of her.” 

“What did she say she’d do?”

“Visit a colleague regarding her research.”

“So, a magizoologist. Who could that be?”

“There’s only one expert. Rolf Scamander,” Malfoy said, knowingly.

“Scamander! Related to ….”

“Newt Scamander, exactly. His grandson, to be precise,” Malfoy added with a small smile at her surprise. “I thought you always knew such things, honking harlequin.”

Hermione swiped her hands through the air impatiently. “I don’t keep up with everything. But there’s only one thing to do now, right?”

“Right.” Was she mistaken or did Malfoy’s eyes gleam in excitement? Was the outlook to another adventures so thrilling to him?

“How quickly can you pack?” she asked with a grin.

“Five minutes?” No, there was no mistake. His whole face was alight. It was good to see him so pleased.

“Beat you by three,” she said smugly.

“Two minutes then,” he granted her and added “I’ll bring a port key. Wilson will take care of the house,” before he Disapparated on the spot.

With one wipe, Hermione cleared Luna’s desk and transported her parchments into the save vault of Malfoy Manor, lest anybody else see Luna’s research. She checked the cages, but they were all open, ergo, no living being was left behind. Her detection spell also indicated that there was no other living being in the house. 

Then she locked the door of the cottage behind her and apparated to her bedroom as well to grab her necessities for traveling. She would meet Malfoy in one and a half minutes in the entrance hall.

She had to smile at his excitement. No word lost on any missed rendezvous, not a word of disappointment about having to give up the serenity of living in the countryside. 

Malfoy was glad to be out on an adventure, all right.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

They landed on a country road, outside of Nyon, and were almost run over by a car immediately. They only saved themselves by jumping into the bushes on the sloping bank of the lake behind them. Hermione lost her balance and slid on her bottom, feet first into the water of Lake Geneva. Bathing in Lake Geneva would have been a nice experience, vacation like almost, if it had not been for the fact that the water was still cold in early spring and that they had just escaped almost certain death. A swan glided by majestically and hissed at her. She scowled back.

“Roadhog,” she heard behind her. “Nincompoop, numbskull, buccaneer.” 

“Malfoy,” she called. 

“Nitwitted highwayman, pestilential Patagonian, Bashi-Bazouk!”

“Malfoy!” she called a little louder.

He finally looked over the bushes separating the road from the shore. “All right, Granger?”

“No,” she barked back. “I have wet feet.”

“Easily taken care of,” he replied, jumping down the slope to help her up. Grumpily she noted that his feet didn’t even touch the water. With a swish of his wand, she was all dry again.

With a satisfied grin, he asked, “So, how do we proceed?”

“So we won’t be run over again?” Hermione replied sarcastically.

“And find Luna,” he added with a grin.

She grumbled, irritated by his good-natured response, and warmed her feet by the by. Then she used a modified Four-Point Spell directed on the whereabouts of Rolf Scamander. They trotted off along the shoreline toward the small town.

Rolf Scamander’s house seemed to be on the outskirts of the village, however, still a bit isolated. Down a sideroad that turned off the Route de Saint-Cergue was an inconspicuous, two-story house with a small garden in front and backing out into the ravine fed by the local creek. Passing it, nobody would look twice because it looked entirely ordinary. 

This suited Malfoy and Hermione well as they stood on the front step, ringing the bell. A man about their age opened the door after a minute, looking a harried. 

“Oui?” he asked in flawless French, frowning when he saw the two visitors. He was tall and slim, although he didn’t have much on Malfoy’s height. His dark hair was short and his blue eyes hidden behind simple round glasses. Dressed in a shirt and trousers, his agitation was clearly visible by his open and crumpled collar and the slight perspiration on his forehead. 

Hermione tried a smile to ease his discomfort. “Apologies for the unannounced intrusion. Mr. Scamander?”

“Yes?” the man replied in English infused with French intonation. Hermione thought Scamander must have been living here for a long time, speaking French more often than not.

“You are awaiting a visitor from England, Luna Lovegood. Is that right? Has she arrived yet?” Hermione started her explanations straight forward.

“Luna Lovegood, how do you…?” The young man seemed equally confused and irritated by their presence.

“Yes, we owe you an explanation. We are friends of Luna’s, and she may be in danger. May we come in and explain why we are here?” Hermione said, still smiling. Malfoy at her side remained quiet and just looked impressively serious. 

Scamander didn’t look too thrilled at having them come into his house, but after a hurried glance over his shoulder, he opened the door wide enough to let them in. “Of course,” he said. “Do come in.”

He led them to his living room. There were two sofas in the middle, framing a coffee table between them. On the table was a tray with two glasses and a bottle of local white wine, untouched. Besides the sitting arrangement, only two sideboards adorned the room, which was immersed in light from the tall window leading out into the back garden. All Hermione could see was a large lawn and the ravine at the back of the house. An ashtray sat on one sideboard, with a cigarette stub in it, and an empty vase on the other. If Scamander was doing his work in the house, he wasn’t doing it in the living room, that much was certain. Hermione suspected he had an office somewhere else in the house and, perhaps, a library. 

Scamander indicated with a wave for them to sit down on one sofa, and took a seat on the other. He leaned back and said, “Well?”

Hermione let Malfoy move into the space between sofa and coffee table first and sat down next to him. 

“All right,” she started immediately. “We are friends of Luna’s, as I said, and we have reason to believe that she arranged a meeting with you today. Is that correct?”

Scamander’s face showed that this explanation was not enough so far, but he nodded. “Yes, that’s correct. I was expecting her; however, she has not arrived yet. When you two showed up at my door, I was understandably confused. Ms. Lovegood never said she wouldn’t come alone.”

Hermione nodded back. “Yes, that’s understandable. Did she tell you anything about the research she’s been doing, anything about the beings she’s been working with?”

Scamander changed his position while speaking, looking at the ceiling and then out the window behind them. Then he focused back on Hermione. “Not much. She said she needed my advice, my expertise on certain beings, but she didn’t want to explain it in the letter. That’s why we arranged for her to come here.” He indicated the tray on the table.

“This was for her, then?” Malfoy spoke for the first time.

“Yes, but help yourself.” Scamander opened his hand in hospitality.

Hermione moved her foot only slightly, so that her heel came to rest on Malfoy’s shoe. She put some sharp but short pressure on it, felt him wince and lifted her heel again.

“Oh, no, thank you,” she heard him reply grumpily, through clenched teeth, without looking his way. “It is certainly too early for a glass of wine.” He moved his leg further away from her.

Scamander accepted that with a nod of his head. 

“Hm.” Hermione brought the attention back to herself. “And Luna didn’t mention at all what kind of beings she wanted to talk to you about?”

“Unfortunately not, no,” Scamander replied with a head shake. “I’m sorry I cannot be of more help.” Then he got up. “So, if there are no more questions …”

“Ah, no, thank you for your time,” Hermione said, getting up herself, and pulling Malfoy away from the bottle of wine he had picked up nonetheless. They walked silently to the door, which Scamander opened for them with his wand.

“Oh, one last question,” Hermione said before stepping out. “Your French accent. You are British, are you not?”

“Yes,” Scamander laughed lightly, pulling his hand through his hair as he spoke. “However, my grandfather’s fame meant that we spent a lot of time here in Switzerland, more so than in Britain actually. I’m afraid I speak French more than English.”

“Ah, yes, that explains it,” Hermione said back, laughing herself. “Well, thanks again for your time, Mr. Scamander.”

“My pleasure,” he said. “Have a good day.” Then he closed the door firmly behind them. If Hermione hadn’t stepped back, he would have closed the door in her face.

Malfoy and Hermione walked down the steps and turned toward the road together.

“What now?” he said when Hermione stayed quiet for much longer than he expected.

Hermione stopped in the middle of the access road and pulled out a small mirror. 

Malfoy knew her better than to think she was going to check her make-up now. “What’s he doing?”

“Hiding behind the curtains. Waiting for us to disappear,” she said. 

They took a few more steps before Hermione asked in the open, “Did you notice that he didn’t even ask our names?”

Malfoy chuckled. “Yes, he was certainly expecting us. Or at least, somebody British. Didn’t matter to him who exactly came calling.”

“That’s right,” Hermione said grimly. 

“And what do we do?” Malfoy helped with her subterfuge by putting a wisp of hair behind her ear. 

Hermione smiled at him, knowing they were on the same page. “We hide in the bushes until they come out with Luna, of course.”

Malfoy smirked back. “Of course.”

They continued walking toward the road and turned toward the village. After the house was out of sight behind a curve in the road, they cut through the bushes on the side of the road and made their way down to the creek, then back to Scamander’s house along the water’s edge. There they hunkered down, the large back window in view, to wait until something happened in the house. Hermione made sure that they didn’t overlook any alarm spells, and then they settled on the ground.

“What tipped you off?” Malfoy inquired. 

“The cigarette stub. Scamander doesn’t smoke. Not even the man back there pretending to be Scamander smokes. There was no pack of cigarettes in sight nor in his pockets, yet the stub was fresh. And there was not a hint of the man having smoked recently. There’s at least one other person in the house. Plus, the strange French accent and his reaction to my question. The man lied. He is not Rolf Scamander. He’s a man who lives and grew up here in Switzerland, speaking the local French, with English as a second language, probably polyjuiced as Scamander. Therefore, I strongly suspect that they have the real Scamander and Luna as well.”

Malfoy nodded. “Agreed on the man not being Scamander. English was certainly a second language he spoke. He’s never even been to Dorset where Newt Scamander retired. They must have had to replace Scamander in a hurry and just picked one who spoke English passably.”

He conjured a few pillows to sit more comfortably, and rubbed his foot when he sat down.

“What’s wrong with one glass of wine, Granger?”

She turned from watching the house to see him sit. Grinning back at him, she replied. “It numbs the mind. Sorry about your foot, but I need you bright and sharp.”

Malfoy kept rubbing his foot before he mumbled, almost too low to be heard, “You don’t need me at all.”

Hermione turned with a sigh and lowered herself to his level on the cushions. He’d become a bit complacent, she thought; a bit too soft through the country life. She put her finger under his chin so he was forced to look at her. “I do need you. Luna needs you. I cannot do this alone, Malfoy. If you have second thoughts about our rescue mission …”

He moved his head back with a jerk, and she let her hand fell away. “Of course, we’ll rescue Luna. That’s not what I mean.” He frowned at the water, avoiding her look, while still massaging his foot. “You wouldn’t even go to dinner with me. Instead, you hit me when I even think about having a drink.”

Oh, Hermione thought, sitting up straight. “Oh,” she breathed.

“Yes, oh,” he grumbled. “You still owe me a dinner from our first adventure. The one in Peru, you remember?”

“Yes, I remember,” she said, flabbergasted. “But I thought … we spend so much time together in the Manor …”

“Where you deny me a good drink, as well,” he grumbled.

“As friends ….” She stumbled over the words. It had never occurred to her that Malfoy could want to be more than friends. He’d always been the perfect gentleman, never asking her to do anything she didn’t bring up herself. And all those dates with other witches.

“What about Astoria Greengrass?” she asked point-blank.

“What about her?” he grumbled. 

“Weren’t you going to take her on a second date?” she asked, thoroughly confused.

“I was,” he assented. “A man has to make other plans if the witch he actually wants is so elusive that she wouldn’t even stay overnight.”

“I did stay overnight,” Hermione protested. 

“In your rooms. And only because Luna had been attacked,” Malfoy acceded. “When was the last time before that?”

“Erm.” Hermione had to think hard. Months ago, most likely. She had always made sure to return to London, to sit alone in her apartment while Malfoy remained in the Manor. And now she realized that he’d only always accepted her decision, most likely with disappointment, and never put any pressure on her to stay longer than she intended. From which she’d have run in the other direction, for sure. Except for those two or three occasions over the years when she’d stayed, against her better judgment. Alcohol had been involved, they had laughed and talked and shared the night and she had fled the next morning before sunrise. He had sent flowers, and she had stubbornly behaved as if nothing had happened the next time they’d seen each other. So he had done the same, until things had gone back to normal. He knew her better than she thought, she had to admit.

“Malfoy, I, …” She stopped and swallowed. 

“I know, I know,” he said. “Just saying. And this is certainly not the right time and place to make dinner plans. Although Wilson is an excellent cook, by the way.”

“I know he is,” Hermione said regretfully. She’d had the pleasure of nice dinners at Malfoy Manor; sometimes she had stayed the night, in her rooms. She had just never thought they could mean more to him than friends with benefits. Nice benefits, actually. What did it mean to her?

She couldn’t say. She had blocked her mind completely in that direction. Being strong-minded had its disadvantages apparently. She had never thought about it. Actively not thought. She spent so much time with him, at his house, going on adventures, helping him out when he was bullied and shunned due to his history, being a good friend. She had never taken a moment to think whether there could be more. And it was not his fault. Maybe it was a side-effect of the magic she had dabbled in. Trying to stay out of the limelight, perhaps she didn’t like anybody focusing on her, least of all Malfoy, who had called her bluff almost immediately. But that was no reason to keep him at a distance indefinitely. She would have to think about it, and soon. 

Before she could make up her mind or at least agree to a dinner date, Malfoy tapped her shoulder before motioning to turn back around. Something was happening at the house.

The door to the garden slid open, and out stepped the false Scamander in a trench coat. He was followed by a blond witch and a man who looked just like him: Luna and the real Scamander, both blindfolded. Behind them, two other men in identical trench coats and hats stepped out, their wands at Luna’s and Scamander’s backs. At the hostages’ hesitant steps, blind as they were, they poked their wands into their backs. One of them snarled in an accent that could have been Russian, “Get a move on. Don’t even think of trying anything stupid. If you don’t want to give us your invention, we have other ways to get it from you.”

“To the embassy?” the false Scamander said.

“Yes, and quickly,” the second man said.

They walked around the back of the house to a grove of trees, which blocked the view from the street. From the sound of clapping doors, Hermione figured they’d had a car hidden there. When she heard the engine rev up, she snuck closer to the house, to get a look, Malfoy right behind her. The car, a dark saloon car with darkened windows and a CD license plate, freed itself from the underbrush and moved quickly along the driveway of Scamander’s house. At the main street, it turned right and sped up the road.

“Thundering typhoons, they’re gone,” Malfoy said unnecessarily. “How will we be able to follow them?”

Hermione had already turned back to the garden of the house and pulled on the barely closed sliding door. “We’ll go in and see if we can find any clues as to who these men are and which country they belong to. Then we find out where that country’s embassy is located and Apparate there.”

Even though he’d known her for quite a while, Malfoy sometimes couldn’t help being impressed at her ability to put quickly two and two together. “Bugger, that’s a good plan,” he mumbled.

The living room was just as they had left it, an hour ago. They didn’t linger there but proceed directly to the upper floor of the house. Hermione’s suspicion was proven right when the staircase steered them directly to what looked like an office of sorts. Scamander was a chaotic worker, just like Luna: there were drawings and parchment sticking to the wall everywhere, or stacked on the floor in great heaps, or piled on the desk. The office was much larger inside than the house blueprint allowed and so shelves upon shelves full of books, haphazardly pushed in, alternated with even more parchments along the walls, and an empty cage hung from the ceiling in one corner. A desk stood isolated on the far wall under the window, but it was a good twenty meters instead of the two and half the house plan would have allowed. Still, there was nothing unusual in it, and Hermione moved on to the next rooms. Scamander’s bedroom had a large bed in it, with two hollows in the bedcover indicating that two people had lain there shortly. The bathroom looked like somebody had been in a hurry to use it, but nothing beyond general untidiness. Finally, the last bedroom had been used to accommodate the “visitors”. The crumpled paper of a cigarette pack had been left on a table next to an armchair, as well as opened and discarded packages of snacks and sandwiches. In a corner behind one armchair, Hermione finally found an empty cigarette pack, equally crumpled and discarded. Its blue and brown paper stated clearly Papirossa. 

“You were right, Malfoy. It’s the Russians,” Hermione snarled. She turned around and was surprised to find herself alone. Where was he?

“Malfoy?” she called.

“I’m in here,” he called back from the office. 

Since he didn’t seem inclined to join her in the guest room, Hermione went back to the office. Malfoy stood with his back to the door, bent over something in his hands, talking.

“And now the book on the locations of International Embassies, thank you, Wilson. Check Switzerland, the Embassy of Kyrgyzstan. In Rolle? The address? Chemin du Levant. Thank you. Yes, Ms. Granger is here with me, and we are doing quite well. No, no dinner tonight, thank you, Wilson. We will have to stay for a bit longer. Good-bye for now.”

The image of Wilson in the two-way mirror in Malfoy’s hand vanished. Pocketing the mirror in an interior pouch of his cloak, Malfoy turned to her and said, “Not Russian, Granger. Kyrgyze. The guy we surprised in Luna’s cottage? His name is Askar Akayev, and he’s from Kyrgyzstan. My father kept a meticulous list of Death Eaters, just in case. I just remembered that he stored it in our library. Hidden, of course, but for those who know where to look and are of Malfoy blood no trouble to find at all. However, since Wilson is so familiar and bonded with the house, the Manor gave him access to the hidden cache, even though he’s not a Malfoy.”

Hermione stared, and Malfoy placed his finger under her chin, pushing it up to close her mouth. “And here we are,” he said with a gentle smile at her surprised face. “It’s more than likely that they are all Kyrgyze, right? Rather than that two countries who are of Russia descent are interested in Luna’s research at the same time, no?”

Still stomaching how quickly Malfoy got the information they needed, which was her specialty, really, Hermione only nodded. “So, we have to go to Rolle, now?”

Malfoy shrugged. “Seems like it. It’s the next village over to the East. If we take a boat, we can be there in one hour.”

“Why would we take a boat?” Hermione asked sceptically.

Malfoy grinned. “Because the Embassy is located on a plot bordering the lake. Coming from the water might be our best chance to get close without being seen.”

Hermione smiled back approvingly. “Brilliant, Malfoy. Now, let’s go and rent a boat.”


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4  
The bugs were biting. Chugging along in a tiny motorboat, they were easy prey for the mosquitoes hovering over the water. Malfoy conjured a spraying device filled with insecticide and sprayed merrily in all directions.

“Buggering bugs, bothersome parasites, poltroons, pirates, pestilence. I’ll get you, you just wait.”

“Quiet, Malfoy, we’re almost there,” Hermione admonished him.

“But, Granger, they are eating me alive, these pockmarks, rhizopods, profiteers.”

Hermione turned around once and skewered him with a glance. He shut his mouth immediately and proceeded to gaze with her through the darkness to the trees lining the plot of land with the grand villa, housing the Embassy of Kyrgyzstan. All was dark and quiet.

After a while, Hermione whispered,” Let’s moor the boat and get a closer look. Maybe we can find out where they’re keeping Luna.”

Malfoy agreed with a nod and they threw the anchor line around a tree at the edge of the plot, alighting over the roots reaching into the water. Using the tree line at the boundary of the wide lawn, they snuck closer to the darkened house. 

However, before they could get close enough, a door opened and a few people hurried out to the back. Malfoy and Hermione froze, watching the group proceed to the water, where a large boat was moored. Were they trying to transport their prisoners by boat, Hermione wondered. There were four people in trenchcoats, leading two persons in their midst. Hermione still wondered if they could overcome the guards with the element of surprise, she and Malfoy, when from the other side four people approached at a run.

“Stop!” They heard a familiar voice shouting. “Those people are citizens of the United Kingdom, and I order you to release them immediately.”

“We order you to release, say stop,” came a second familiar voice. 

Exchanging one knowing glance, Hermione and Malfoy ran toward the group fleeing from the Embassy, trying to push their prisoners forward to the water and to get them away on the boat.

“How do we hit the right person, Granger?” Malfoy asked exasperatedly from Hermione’s side. “In the dark you can’t tell friend from foe.”

“Just hit and stun, Malfoy,” Hermione said grimly, still in a run. “You can always check who it is later. And I’m sure you’ll recognize Luna before you stun her.”

“Sure thing,” Malfoy said and shot a stunning spell at the person coming up next to him.

A short kerfuffle ensued, with Stunning and other short distance fighting spells coming left, right, and centre. Malfoy’s previous target was Renervated by the guy in a trench-coat next to him, and subsequently shot spells with renewed vigour. Hermione ducked and dodged the spells, eluding being hit but hitting a guy with a bowler hat instead of the intended target right next to him. At the same time, a barrage of spells came from the other side of the group, and Hermione and Malfoy did their very best to avoid being hit.

The whole struggle came to a stop when a voice cried, “Stoi! Or she dies!”

Everybody turned toward the lake whence the voice had come, and there stood a man with a trench-coat and a grim face, holding his wand to Luna’s neck. “You will let my men and me go, with our prisoners, or she dies,” he said again, menacingly. Luna stood, eyes unfocused, defenceless under an Imperius curse. 

“Akayev, the guy who struck me down in the cottage,” Malfoy whispered to Hermione from the side of his mouth. Hermione recognized the man but was still at a loss why Kyrgyzstan was after Luna’s creation. Well, except for its potential for mass destruction, of course, but why Kyrgyzstan of all places?

Everybody except Akayev and his men dropped their wands to let them pass freely. They moved as one in backward steps, eyes fixed on their pursuers, down to the water. Hermione, Malfoy and the Aurors from the Ministry followed in slow steps, closing in, but couldn’t prevent the Kyrgyze men from climbing into the strong motorboat, pushing Luna and Scamander in first. They cast off quickly, revving the engine, and soon the boat and its position lights had disappeared into the darkness, going further East. 

“Crabbe, Goyle,” Hermione yelled backwards. “Where would they go?”

“And what are you doing here?” Malfoy added.

Goyle, who had just helped one other Ministry Auror to his feet close to the water’s edge, strode over, setting his bowler straight as he walked. He left it to another Ministry man further back to help Crabbe stand.

“To the next airport, I surmise,” he said grimly. 

“That’s not in Geneva?” Malfoy asked.

Goyle snorted. “How would they get through customs, with two prisoners, and all exits watched? We are wizards, but we are not stupid.” He waved his hand at the impossible undertaking. “No, there are small airports close by, for prop machines. The next one is in Morges, about 20 km from here. It’s conveniently close to the lake, so I assume they will have an airplane waiting for them. With that they can reach an international airport, one that’s not watched, by connecting with several prop machines, and finally board a plane to Bischkek. Ingenious plan, if I may say so myself.”

Goyle was exceptionally well informed. Hermione exhaled with a sense of relief. “I assume there’s somebody waiting for them at the airport in Morges, then?”

She’d exhaled too early. “Erm,” Goyle said with a sheepish mien. “No, it’s just us here.”

Hermione stared at him, uncomprehendingly. “Why?” Malfoy asked.

“Well, we figured we could apprehend them here, at the Embassy. We saw no indication that further -”

“You mean we have to pursue them? NOW? And quickly?”

Goyle nodded, and Hermione turned away before his head had lowered the second time.

“Quick, Malfoy, get to the boat.”

“Erm, Granger, our boat is awfully small. It’s no match …”

“Do you think I’m stupid?” Hermione yelled while running back to the water, leaving Goyle, and Crabbe, who had finally made his way to his partner, standing clueless on the lawn.

Before she and Malfoy reached their boat tied to the tree, Hermione spoke the transformation spell, and their tiny motorboat became a speedboat in a split second. 

They jumped aboard. Malfoy broke off the branches that had become stuck in the railing due to the increased size of the craft and Hermione gunned the engine. Another quick Diffindo severed the rope tying their motorboat to the shore, and they were off, in hot pursuit.

It took them about fifteen minutes to catch up. Flying over the dark water, following the lights of the shoreline as it dipped and turned, it would have been a very nice boat trip had this been a vacation. It was not. For one, Malfoy had to constantly keep his eyes on the fuel gauge, replenishing a tank that had been filled only for the lesser consumption of a small motorboat, not a speedboat, every few minutes. It was quite annoying. They were glad when they heard the other boat again. A bigger set of lights approached, they were narrowing in on a larger village, likely the outskirts of Morges.

They turned around yet another headland when they saw the other boat, steering directly toward a marina set before orderly strips of blinking lights leading inland. An airport. 

They’d been detected, they could tell, as aboard the Kyrgyze boat men were shouting and hurriedly trying to disembark. They’d already run up the slope to the lawn of the runway while Hermione steered her boat to the mooring, cutting the engine. Malfoy jumped off, Hermione close behind him, without wasting time tying their speedboat to the poles. They ran, after the other men, towards a small airplane built for maybe five passengers, waiting in the glaring light of the runway.

“Vystro!” Akayev yelled when he reached the plane first. “Get going, quickly.” He and the man right behind him shoved Luna and Scamander on board. Then Akayev jumped in himself, kicking the man behind him in the chest, so he had no chance to board himself. He closed the door and the plane moved immediately. The other two men caught up with the first and they all ran next to the plane, shouting, trying to somehow get on, even thought it was clear that the plane was never big enough for all of them. 

The plane gathered speed and very soon the men had to give up catching it. So had Malfoy and Hermione, a few hundred meters behind the Kyrgeze men. The men stood in the middle of the runway, throwing their hats and cursing wildly in their Russian-like language. 

“Wait,” Hermione said. “It’s too slow to lift off. It will turn around somewhere to come back here to gain more speed. We’ll get it on its way back.”

“Erm, Granger, a speeding plane is not that easy to catch …” Malfoy objected, but Hermione had already proceeded further down the runway.

And then the plane actually did turn around, and after a brief pause, came full throttle their way. The Kyrgeze men stood frozen for a second and then fled the runway left and right. Hermione took position in the middle of the plane’s approach and pulled her wand. 

A loud honking sound irritated her. She had to think how to prevent the plane from lifting off, she couldn’t use any disturbances, so what the …

A car came into view, a dark saloon car that looked familiar, swerving wildly across the runway, blinding Hermione with its headlight. The plane swerved to the left, trying to go around the car, but the car went with the direction change. And so it went, three times back and forth, like a children’s dance: you go left, I go left, you go right, I go right. Until the car drove straight in front of the speeding plane and braked, and the plane crashed right into it, the propeller coming down on the other side of the car - about two meters from Hermione, who still stood on the runway with her mouth wide open. 

The doors of the car opened and out came Crabbe and Goyle; Goyle from the driver’s side. 

“We took the car from the Embassy and drove as fast as we could. Guess we made it,” Goyle said while Crabbe bent over and threw up.

“Chizpurfles, raggle taggle rapscallions, roadhogs,” Malfoy mumbled, seeming as flabbergasted as Hermione was.

The other Aurors had Apparated over and came running from the tree lined edge of the airport to take care of the kidnappers. The three Kyrgyze guys who didn’t make it onto the plane tried to disappear into the night, with only one Auror being able to follow them. Malfoy ran across the runway and cut off the one guy who was trying to go back to the boat. In a blink, he had his spray pump in his hand and sprayed thoroughly on the fleeing man. The man broke down in a coughing fit. Malfoy passed him off to the Auror. “All yours,” he said with a grin, pocketing his spray pump with a satisfied grin. 

However, the other two had escaped into the night. 

“Eh,” Goyle said dismissively. “We’ll get them in time. At least, we recovered Ms. Lovegood and Mr. Scamander.”

“Hermione,” Luna’s voice called over. “And Malfoy.” She waved. The Aurors had lifted the Imperius curse, and Luna was herself again, quickly taking the hand of Scamander next to her. She looked curiously around. “Where are we?”

Hermione waved back, and Malfoy lifted his hand briefly. Then they left it to the Aurors to inform Luna of their location. They both turned to the Ministry employee.

“All right, Goyle, explain,” Malfoy said imperiously, straightening up to his full height, which was about a head more than Goyle. Crabbe slowly staggered over to where they were standing, his bowler still in hand. “Especially why and how you learned to drive a Muggle car.”

Goyle blushed. “Well, I can’t. Not really. I just pushed a pedal and steered.”

Hermione snickered. An automatic, of course. Goyle would have never managed a clutch and shift model. Still, even to find the driving gear in an automatic … She admonished herself to be more tolerant; after all, Crabbe and Goyle had just saved Luna. She concentrated again on Goyle’s explanations, the grin still lingering on her face.

“Well, it is like this,” Goyle spelled out. “We had received intelligence that Ms. Lovegood was working on something spectacular. And about Kyrgyze activities.”

“Received intelligence how?” Malfoy interrupted angrily. Were they back to the question whether the Ministry still interfered in his private life?

Crabbe and Goyle’s sheepish faces spoke legends. “Well, you see …,”Goyle started.

“The trace,” Crabbe blurted out. 

There was a short moment of tense silence, which Malfoy broke by growling. “You put a trace on me, you troglodytes?”

“Not you. That would be illegal,” Goyle protested first, but then added in sheepish admission, “The Manor.”

Malfoy was speechless and so it fell upon Hermione to ask for clarification. “The Ministry put the trace on the Manor? To do what exactly?”

Goyle pressed out, with clenched lips, apology written all over his face, “To see what magic exactly goes on.” Crabbe added, “Exactly.”

With a raised eyebrow upon the grey-zone of legality, she transfixed the wizard with the bowler. Goyle, evidently the mouthpiece of the pair this time, hurried to explain further, squirming as he spoke. 

“Wilson eliminated some parts of the trace. We couldn’t see what Malfoy was doing. That was one of the reasons why we needed to talk to Wilson before events went topsy-turvy. And then, due to our search in the grounds we actually had a chance to see what Ms. Lovegood was doing, which has been the main focus of the trace.”

“To see what Lovegood was doing?” Malfoy barged into the conversation again. “Blistering barnacles.”

Goyle straightened from his apologetic crouch. “Well, you see, we had good reason. Breeding new magical beings is quite illegal, you know. We would have put a stop to it much sooner had we known.”

“Much sooner, you should know.” Crabbe added imperiously.

“Yes, yes,” Malfoy said dismissively.

Well, Hermione thought, they were right, though. They did have a reason to interfere. Luna was their friend, but her breeding program was quite irresponsible and they, Hermione and Malfoy, would have put a stop to it immediately had they known. Now that the beings existed, they would have to think about what to do with them. They were still dangerous. 

“What about the Kyrgyze? Why are they so interested in Luna’s creation?” Malfoy put the focus back on the kidnappers. 

Crabbe shrugged, but it was Goyle again, who answered.

“Well, for the same reason any other nation would be interested in a weapon of mass destruction. Politically, it seems they have a problem with Muggles at the moment. Their Statute of Secrecy has been breached, and the Muggles have become quite curious. Too many to go around and obliviate each and every one who asks uncomfortable questions. So, they thought they could use Ms. Lovegood’s beings to brainwash all the Muggles. We’re not quite sure if it works that way, that’s one reason why we had to intervene. Besides the crime of kidnapping a British citizen, of course. Or rather two.”

Crabbe nodded affirmatively.

They all turned to where Luna and Scamander were standing, by now back to sound mind and deep in quiet conversation, their heads lowered to each other.

“Well, we’ll leave you to greet your friends. Later, we will have to interrogate them with regards to the fate of the beings,” Crabbe said, and jerked his chin in the direction of Luna.

Hermione nodded and together with Malfoy she walked over. 

“Luna, for Merlin’s sake, what were you thinking?” was the first thing out of her mouth.

“Hello, Hermione. Malfoy,” Luna greeted them. “Please, meet Rolf Scamander.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Ms. Granger, Mr. Malfoy.” The dark-haired wizard shook hands enthusiastically all around. “Luna talked so much about you. She was quite certain you would be rescuing us. And she was right, wasn’t she?”

“Well, with the help of the Ministry,” Malfoy said, untypically modest. 

Hermione couldn’t stomach the polite greetings when more pressing matters were on her mind. “Luna, what are we going to do with your, what did you call them, Hellacks?”

Luna laughed and turned to her companion. “A true snoop, isn’t she? She found everything important to them.” Scamander smiled in reply.

“Yes, Hellacks,” Luna continued, becoming serious. “And Rolf and I talked quite a lot about them. Yes, we had some time before they Imperiused us and tried to take us out of the country.”

Scamander still smiled. “Luna filled me in.”

“What were you thinking, creating them?” Hermione couldn’t hold herself back.

“Ah, well, that’s quite interesting,” Scamander answered. “And she almost got it right. You see, if they’d given sound on another frequency, they could have disintegrated plastic. The whole world-wide plastic problem would have been solved. Isn’t that right, Luna?”

Luna nodded. “But I couldn’t get it right. No matter how I tried, they only broke glass.”

“And confused people,” Malfoy added. “Maybe they could have destroyed brain tissue, as well?”

Luna shook her head. “No, that’s just a side effect of the sound waves. It goes away very quickly.”

“And where are they now?” Hermione pressed. “We only found empty cages.”

“There are only three females, and they like to nest. They retreated to the grove of elm trees in the Northwest corner of the Manor grounds. They should be there. Their nests look like Chinese lanterns made of straw.” 

Hermione exhaled in relief. They could be retrieved. But what then?

“And what are we going to do with them? They cannot exist any further.”

Luna became serious. “That’s what I wanted to talk to Rolf about, amongst other things. And he agrees with me. When we realized they would only ever break glass ….”

“We will have to release them in a great wilderness and let them finish their natural lives. Luna and I will stay in their proximity, to make sure they won’t escape, and nobody captures them to use them for whatever nefarious purposes,” Rolf said seriously, his brow furrowed.

Malfoy and Hermione stared. “And … where do you think could that be?” Hermione inquired hesitantly.

Luna and Rolf gazed into each other’s eyes. It was clear that they would not only stay with the Hellacks, but also with each other. “Maybe Alaska,“ Luna ventured. “Or far north in Canada,” Rolf added, not taking his eyes off the witch next to him.

“Well, then,” Malfoy boomed, breaking the spell of the two lovebirds. “how long would that take, to their natural end? Just to see if I need another renter for my cottage.”

“Oh, I have one in mind,” Luna smirked. “Hermione, would you mind watching my cottage while I’m away?”

Hermione choked. Malfoy cried, “_My_ cottage!” and only then realized what Luna had said. He turned to Hermione and clapped her back, lest she suffocate. 

“Well, Granger, let me know if you consider this option. I have to say, I wouldn’t mind.”

Hermione recovered. “Oh, you wouldn’t mind, would you?” she barked. Then she had to laugh. Luna and her subliminal perception. “How long, Luna, did you know?”

The witch shrugged. “Oh, just a few months.”

“Well, a certain dinner will seal the deal, I suppose,” Malfoy grumbled. 

“It’s settled then.” Luna laughed. “It won’t be before another few weeks. Rolf and I must prepare for our departure. It’s not like we’ll just be going on a quick vacation.”

“Will you return to Britain tonight?” Scamander asked. 

“Yes, we will have to return. Crookshanks will need some care, too, right?” Malfoy replied.

“Oh, he’s enjoying some off-time at Mrs. Figg’s.” Hermione waved a hand dismissively. “He’ll be all right. We have a dinner to go to. After a good sleep. It’s like what, three o’clock in the morning?” Hermione turned her head as if there was a clock somewhere on the airfield.

Malfoy face lit up. “That’s right, we do. Well, shall we?” He offered her his arm and she gladly took it. 

The next evening, Wilson prepared a dinner the likes of which the Manor hadn’t seen in a long time. 

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last but not least: biggest thanks to the mods team for this final, ultimate remix year. It's been a pleasure and a great ride thanks to you for bringing this to us, year after year. Sam, Ook, Dors - you are the best. Thank you so much for all your work and energy and and support and relentlessly making sure we post the very best we can produce.


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